Pot Leaves and Apple Seeds
by Suma Akila
Summary: Harry Potter is, arguably, one of the most powerful young wizards of his time. He is, also, way too young to deal with war. The result? AngstyPotterxSnape.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Harry Potter or other characters from Rowling. **

**Angsty Harry, Drug use, Slash, OOCness. **

**Harry Potter, the savior to be! Harry Potter, the loyal Gryffindor and embodiment of good! Harry Potter, the Wizarding World's greatest weapon against Voldemort and his nefarious plans! Harry Potter… the drunkard? The Pot Head? And oh… the Potion's addict?**

**Pot Leaves and Apple Seeds **

**Chapter One**

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling slowly, finding pleasure in the way his body seems to float in the direction in which his head turns, his lips curling into the smallest of smiles as he stares unfocused at the white walls.

He managed to get his hands on some good, potent stuff this time. He isn't even sure on how he had gotten his hands on it, other than the fact that some new bloke had decided that this little rich neighborhood full of people like the Dursley's would be the perfect place to stake a claim and start dishing out goods that have never even been heard of before.

_Purple Rain… _he muses to himself, tongue prickling as his taste buds recall the flavor that has been newly introduced to him. _A hint of grape…_

He's always liked the flavor of grapes. Sweet and yet tart, a perfect contradiction that always sends his mouth watering just by thinking about it. More so, now, he muses as he forces his body to roll over on that little bed provided only out of fear, his stomach meeting the somewhat scratchy bedspread as his right arm dangles over the side of the bed and his eyes stare blearily at the bedroom door.

He's hungry.

Really, he should have expected it. He's always hungry afterwards, even if it's not very much. He runs his tongue out over his lips, testing, and finds that he is craving something to drink as well. _To be expected, _he sighs in his own mind before hauling himself up onto his bare feet, too-bi g sweat pants sagging dangerously low on his protruding hip bones as he pads towards the door and tugs on it with a yawn.

The house is dark; it's late after all. The sharp, almost dank smell of his activities follows him out into the hallway but he doesn't mind. It's not as if the Dursley's will complain about it… too afraid, or too uncaring really. His new habits keep him out of their hair and tucked away quietly in his little bedroom for the entirety of the long summer days, and even the absence of Hedwig makes them even more receptive to his new little hobby.

The Owl herself is staying with Hermione, courtesy of his 'kindness' since her parents wanted to go on a trip and she wanted to still be able to stay in touch with Ron and himself. Sure, he misses her. But really, she probably would stay out in the wild as much as possible, what with the heavy air and smell that nearly always blankets his little room at Number Four, Privet drive.

He is slow and silent as he moves down the stairs and into the kitchen, sleepy lidded eyes roaming around the dark before settling on the pantry in an almost detached fashion. Although normally they would protest if they found food missing, he has also noticed that this summer has brought on a slight understanding between him and his so called family.

As long as he didn't show himself during meal times, or any other time for that matter, he could pilfer through the food in the pantry and fridge as often as he wants, given he doesn't eat any of 'Duddly-kins' chocolate cake, or Vernon's precious leftovers.

He doesn't want any real food anyways and so he settles on a nice large bag of potato chips stored away in the side bottom shelf of the pantry, one that he knows is near its expiration date, and carries it up to his room with that floaty feeling carrying his mind off to other places, and other things.

After a few handfuls of salty chips and another glance in the drawer of the nightstand beside his bed, he concludes that before the last few days of his summer vacation is over with, he really does need to track down that boy again and restock his supplies.

He highly doubts that Hogwarts has a plethora of marijuana, after all.

…

It had all started very innocently, and obviously unplanned. Cedric had died and then Sirius had died and everything had gone wrong so Harry, now sixteen but only fifteen at the time, had felt the impact of everything too fast and at too high of a scale.

It had been one of Dudley's friends who had suggested it. Harry was having a hard time sleeping… more so than normal, with Cedric's dying eyes and pained face flickering in and out of his minds' eye, and Voldermort's mocking laughter haunting his consciousness as Sirius's mouth opens in astonished misbelief.

With dark circles under his eyes and haggard steps that led him through the nearly empty house, he had been surprised to find Petunia and Vernon gone, but Dudley and two of his fat lackeys sitting in the living room bent over the coffee table, watching as the older one messed with something upon the wood.

After a few thrown insults from Dudley, and a failed escape attempt, the older male whom Harry had later learned was named _Pete _had made a comment about Harry's rather emaciated appearance. Harry had not said anything, Dudley had _gratefully_ supplied that Harry often woke screaming in nightmares, and _Pete _had said that he had _just the thing _to help Harry out.

Not much persuasion was needed after that and, an hour later, Harry had found himself on a completely different level of relaxed, and completely devoid of any care of anything that involved Wizards, Voldemort, or death.

And so, he continued. And continued, and kept on smoking the little rolled blunts until it became almost necessary because otherwise he would find himself waking in shivers, holding back screams of horror at dreams soaked in blood and a deep pain in his chest reminiscent of his feelings at watching others die.

He moves down the platform towards the train, hazy eyes scanning the bustling Hogwarts students in disinterest as he debates on whether or not he should wait for Ron and Hermione, his trunk already deposited in the belly of the train and his hands twitching towards the pocket of his dark blue hoodie where an already rolled blunts rests innocently in a small little bag, sealed away in case the craving becomes too great on the way to the castle.

He should be fine, for now. He had made sure to wake up earlier than normal so that he could smoke before his shower, his stuff neatly packed away in his trunk and his newly acquired stash tucked away in the folds of his invisibility cloak. He feels a moment of gratification that the Hogwarts staff doesn't snoop through the students' belongings. He would hate to have to explain why he-

"Harry!"

_Ah, _there they are.

He slows to a stop and looks off to his right side, watching as a head of bushy brown hair accompanied by tell-tale red barrel in his direction and he feels that slow smile creeping up over his features as his two closest friends draw up to him, a pair of long arms in the form of Hermione throwing themselves around his frame to pull him into a hug.

He returns it, briefly, and is out of her arms a second later as Ron claps his hand across his shoulders with a wide grin, eyes blazing. "Heya, Mate! Blimey are you a sight for sore eyes."

That's right. Harry had forgotten: Ron had been sent to spend some time with Percy over the summer, the stuck up boot licker that his brother is. How boring that must have been. Harry hadn't been writing to him while he was gone for the simple fact that Ron hadn't been writing him, either. Harry doesn't begrudge him for it.

They exchange pleasantries and other small talk as they make their way onto the train and into an empty compartment, Harry listening more than talking. There really isn't any reason for him to speak; life at the Dursley's is boring, and so he listens to Ron's woes and Hermione's recount of how absolutely beautiful her trip had to been, and he is assured over and over again that Hedwig will be waiting for him whenever he gets to Hogwarts.

If they notice that he is abnormally silent, they say nothing about it. Nor do they comment on how he seems to drift away from their conversation every now and then, or that he seems abnormally lethargic. Well, sometimes it's good to have friends who think they know what you are going through.

…..

Cooped up hours later in the Room of Requirement, the invisibility cloak resting beside him as he lays out on the magically conjured bed and watches the smoke curl up and away from his barely parted lips, he wonders if perhaps this year will be better than the last.

…..

**Time line and happenings won't be the same as the books, obviously, so bare with me please. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, though it might have been a bit vague. It's meant to be that way for a reason, at least for now. Because, after all, Harry's own mind is clouded with the substance that is Marijuana. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you liked the first chapter. And yes, I'm well aware that this is not normal Harry behavior, but this is MY Harry so… :D Anyways, I hope you like the next chapter. **

**Pot Leaves and Apple Seeds**

**Chapter Two**

Potions.

Oh, how Harry loathes potions class; almost as much as he loves smoking. What an odd contradiction, but Harry seems to be full of those lately, so what can he really say?

Today finds Harry attempting some sort of potion that is supposed to be able to cure minor illnesses such as the flu or chicken pox, though while the potion itself is supposed to go from brown to blue to something of a purple, he finds himself staring at a concoction that has sadly ended up somewhere in the realm of sickly yellow and for the life of him he can't quite figure out how it has happened.

Perhaps he mixed one too many times? Or maybe instead of grinding up that slugdart, he was supposed to crumble it?

He lets his eyes trail lazily to the potions book open before him as his potion makes a nasty little hiss, followed by a gurgle that has Hermione raising her brow from across the table, and goes over the directions once more even though his potion is far, far from being saved.

Well, is that it? He had forgotten to stir counter-clockwise while adding the goat-milk and had completely forgone squeezing the barley root's sap into the mix while counting to five. Can't really fault him for that though, the directions are in such a small print that he would nearly have to have his nose pressed right up against the pages to be able to-

"And what, Mr. Potter, is that _atrocious _abomination in your cauldron?"

_Bane of my existence, _Harry marvels silently in his head, tossing a half lidded gaze over his shoulder at the potions master and resident Slytherin terror of Hogwarts. He bites back the retort rising up on his tongue, offering the smallest of his lazy smiles as he stares right back into pools of obsidian, tilting his head somewhat to the side as if actually thinking about it.

"I made a mistake during the mixing process, professor." He decides on the safest response, one that clearly points out that he is the one at fault and that he is well aware of where he messed up, but the greasy haired professor sneers at him anyways with his upper lip curled in disgust, his spine straightening and sending his frame straight up to tower over Harry's own.

_Sucks he's gotta be so much taller than me, too. _The mind-harry sighs in his thoughts even as he waits for the blow to come.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for your complete inability to take even the simplest potions seriously."

And then he is off, sweeping his robes behind him as he draws up behind an already flustered Neville and causing the nervous male to drop a beaker to shatter against the corner of the table, hand jerking out to knock over the contents of his cauldron. Well, at least Harry's potion didn't turn out pink, like his.

_There is such a thing as miracles. _

…

It's lunch time, but Harry finds himself back in the Room of Requirement once more, thinking that perhaps he should call it something else so that he doesn't have to keep thinking such a long title. He could call it RoR he supposes, but that makes him sound like he is cheaply imitating a lion or something. Maybe just 'The Room' would work.

Yeah, he likes that.

_The Room. _

He hasn't conjured a bed this time; that would just completely invite him to doze off for the rest of the day and despite his absolute desire to curl up like a cat and take a mid-day nap, he figures that he really should refrain from doing so, so that the entire school doesn't go up in chaos about the missing 'Boy-Who-Lived.'

Meh.

Instead he lays across a fairly comfortable couch, his left leg draped over the far arm rest while his right leg hangs off of the front of the couch with his foot planted firmly on the ground to keep him from completely slipping off. His head rests on the other side, one arm tucked beneath him while the other sits on top of his chest, fingers holding a half smoked blunt to his lips.

_Well, _his eyes slide shut as he rolls the smoke around on his tongue, _wonder what's for dinner. _

He would be thinking of food now, when he is skipping a meal for his little private time in The Room. But he needs it, after his run in with Snape. The man always seems to catch him off guard, to say and do the right things to set him off on his own little frazzled state of mind. He doesn't like it; he never has. Snape is the only one who can truly get underneath his skin… more so than even Draco Malfoy.

He takes another long slow drag and then sits up, exhaling through his nose even as he speaks out loud, his words barely a mumble.

"Dobby."

With a little 'pop' the House Elf is there, wringing his hands and bowing low with a stuttered 'hello' and many 'I am honored, Harry Potter's' and Harry asks him if he would mind fetching him some food from the kitchens. The other happily obliges and sooner than he expected (though his perception of time may be a bit skewed, he admits) he is munching happily away on what he thinks is pork and some kind of potato.

He can't finish it all… in fact he only eats a few bites, but it's delicious anyways and he makes sure to tell the House Elf that so that the creature will know that he is pleased before he leaves what's left of the food and exits The Room to head towards his last few classes of the day.

He can only imagine the bombardment of questions he will receive from Ron and Hermione when they next see him. He has, after all, succeeded in completely wasting away the hour long lunch break.

…

"I don't get this at all, Hermione!"

Ron's voice cuts through the idle chatter that fills up the Gryffindor common room and Harry looks up from the Herbology assignment he is working on to eye his two friends that sit a little too close on the couch directly in front of him.

Ron, in true Weasley fashion, is flailing his arms in the air, one holding onto a rather thick looking book, while the other holds a quill. Ink is smudged over the bridge of his nose, dark black against his pale and ginger freckled face, and Harry can't help but feel amused.

Hermione is staring at the red headed boy with a look akin to exasperated fondness, as if she can't tell whether she wants to slap him or if she wants to continue to listen to him rant. It's sickeningly sweet, and Harry finds himself looking back down at his own half-finished essay, feeling his mind attempting to try and tug away from his skull.

He hasn't smoked since lunch, which normally isn't a problem… when he doesn't have to focus on school work all day. He hadn't been calculating the actual homework he would have to do during the year whenever he bought his stash back on Privet Drive, and he feels a small tinge of worry when thinking of how long his current amount is going to last. Less than half of the time he had originally thought, that is for sure.

But he can find something else to help take off the edge, to help him relax. He is sure of it. It is the Wizarding World after all. There has to be something. Maybe some sort of plant? He could ask Neville under the pretense of trying to do an extra credit essay for their Herbology class… or perhaps he could ask Hermione, but sometimes she can be too perceptive and that's the last thing that he needs right now.

Maybe he can talk someone in Hogsmead into buy him a nice bottle of Firewhiskey to bring back to his room and hide away in his trunk. Or he could purchase a potions book and…

_A potions book?_

Well, that's rather ridiculous, he thinks to himself as a small smirk twitches its way onto his face. Why buy a potions book when he has a Potions Professor that he could oh so kindly ask for extra credit in the form of studying the effects of certain ingredients when added to potions? Or perhaps even extra credit on one of those advanced potions books that Snape keeps tucked away for himself.

It wouldn't be that hard; not really. He can almost see the look of pure glee on the professor's face after asking him for such a difficult task that the Slytherin wouldn't be able to see him actually accomplishing. And surely he wouldn't, not really. He would try, earn some extra points in his false attempt, and then he would actually have a book to have for reference as he tries to come up with something even better than the marijuana he has come to love so well.

_Yeah, that sounds like a plan. _

….

**Short, sweet, to the point. **

**Hope you like it. **

**This is my first HarryxSnape fic. **


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